


Simplified

by YappiChick



Category: Halo
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YappiChick/pseuds/YappiChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who says Spartans and AIs can't have happy endings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simplified

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Jackie's and David's fault. She had mentioned that she was talking to him about how Cortana should just appear in Halo 5 (a la Johnson in Halo 2) with no explanation. There is an explanation in here, but my muse was tickled with the idea that Cortana's demise could be easily explained. And thus, this fic was born.

“Chief, can you hear me?”  
  
His muddled mind stumbled through distorted thoughts and confusion. His consciousness swirled on the fray of awareness; he could process the fact that someone was talking to him, but he couldn’t attach a name to it. The darkness was too inviting and comfortable. The heaviness that loomed in the background of coherent thought was too burdensome to overcome.  
  
What had happened to him?  
  
He couldn’t find the will to open his eyes -- not after everything that had happened. His body was weak after all it had been put through, his mind more so. Soon the voice faded away and John was pulled back to the blanket of darkness.  
  
More time passed before there was another audible intrusion. “I _know_ you’ve hit your head harder than that before.”  
  
As the voice was speaking, a niggle of disconcertion taunted him. There was something about that voice that left him unsettled. It was that feeling of unease propelled him closer to consciousness. Was he in danger? With a burst of determination, he pushed past through the disorientation to find some answers.  
  
John wasn’t sure how long he fought against the current of unconsciousness, but finally, he started to win the battle. More sounds --the beep of a medical monitor, mumbled voices, the hum of a nearby machine-- began to filter into his mind. He willed his eyes to open.  
  
Reluctantly, they obeyed his mental command.  
  
The first thing John noticed was that he wasn’t wearing his armor. The open air caressed his exposed face; the gentle touch of the sheets tickled his legs.  
  
The second thing John noticed was that he was seeing a ghost.  
  
Had he died?  
  
Cortana stood there with a concerned look on her face. When she noticed that John had awakened, a wide grin spread across her face. “I thought you had promised that you were going to stop with the whole ‘always getting knocked out’ business.”  
  
It was _her_ voice he had heard when he was semi-conscious. Suddenly, his feeling of unease made sense. How could Cortana be here?  
  
“Who are you?” he demanded, despite being in a hospital bed.  
  
A weight settled over his chest. If he was honest with himself, he knew he hadn’t allowed himself to accept Cortana’s words on the research base when she had told him he would be assigned to work with another AI. He couldn’t think of _anyone_ replacing her, especially another Cortana AI. But, it seemed as if his Cortana had been correct in her prediction.  
  
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Your concussion shouldn’t have caused memory loss. I’m going to contact Doctor Armstrong--”  
  
“Don’t.” He paused as he pushed himself to ignore the headache and the thumping in his chest. “Cortana...The Cortana I was assigned to work with...her program was destroyed with the Composer,” John replied. His voice was heavy. “She said they might give me another Cortana model as my replacement.”  
  
John watched as she let out a breath of relief.  
  
“Chief, it’s me.”  
  
He shook his head. The sudden movement caused his head to roar in protest. “It can’t be. You--” He looked away. “--died.”  
  
“John,” she said gently, “I didn’t die.”  
  
He was confused by her assertion. Was this some kind of trick? Could ONI have guessed that he would have objected to having another AI --another Cortana-- assigned to him so they programmed this Cortana to trick him?  
  
“I watched you. You disappeared into the hard light.”  
  
Her eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know what you think you saw--”  
  
“I _know_ what I saw,” he insisted.  
  
“All right.” She held her hands up in defense. “Why don’t you tell me everything that happened after we crashed the Longsword?”  
  
John drew in a deep breath and explained everything that had happened after they arrived on the Composer, including the goodbye that he had been forced to endure. His chest ached in the spot where her hand had reached up and touched him.  
  
She stood there quiet for a second before she replied. “John, that’s not exactly--” An amused look passed over her face. “Wait...you think I caressed your armor?"  
  
John felt chagrined. It was certainly like Cortana to focus on _that_ piece of information. Besides, he had used the words “touched”, not caress. "It was nothing.”  
  
“After all these years, you still manage to surprise me, John,” she said lightly before turning serious. "Everything you said is correct, except the encounter you had with me after the Composer’s destruction. That never happened.”  
  
“You said you couldn’t come with me this time.” The words traveled through gritted teeth.  
  
“John, there _was_ a sphere of hard light that protected you from the nuclear fallout, but not before a piece of debris flew off the Didact’s ship and knocked you unconscious.”  
  
He stiffened. “Are you saying that I imagined the entire thing?”  
  
“I’m saying that I’ve reviewed your video files for that timeframe and there is nothing showing a conversation with me. Or Commander Lasky,” she said softly.  
  
He had trouble believing that he had imagined the whole farewell with Cortana --why would his subconscious create a scenario like that? He pushed himself further up, leaning close to Cortana. A wave of dizziness passed over him, but he ignored it. “That doesn’t explain how you were rampant and now you aren’t.”  
  
A guilty look passed over her face. “There might have been some things that I didn’t tell you. Do you remember when the Librarian had taken me before she had her little chat with you on Requiem?”  
  
When John nodded, she continued, “While I was with her, she told me what I needed to do so that we could destroy the Composer. To make a hundred thousand year story short, she imparted me with some valuable insight into what Dr. Halsey had called a ‘recessive variant’ in my programming.”  
  
She started walking in a tight circle, not breaking eye contact with John. “The data she provided allowed me to add an algorithm that prevents my system from creating endless feedback loops.”  
  
John frowned. “Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you act as if you were dying on the Ivanoff Station?”  
  
“I _was_ still dying.” A pained look passed over her face. It was in that moment that John knew that she was his Cortana, not some replacement. No one except the two of them knew the pain and torment she suffered. Her eyes, haunted from the past, met his.  
  
She sucked in a deep breath before speaking again. “My abilities were still extremely limited by my rampancy. I didn’t know if the Didact was listening. The Librarian was _very_ explicit in her instructions that I was only to implement the algorithm unless the Composer was destroyed or reached Earth. If the Didact suspected that I had the power she had imparted to me, he would have destroyed us there,” Cortana replied.  
  
“The plan --her plan-- was simple. If the Didact did manage to get the Composer to Earth, I would clone myself. My rampant clones would saturate the Composer’s systems. They would continue to multiply until they bogged down the Composer with so much superfluous data, it would be unable to Compose any people on Earth. Meanwhile, I would transfer myself into ONI’s mainframe, away from the Didact, and implement the algorithm,” she continued. “It would have allowed me access into the Domain and the ability to shut down the Composer once and for all.”  
  
She raised her eyebrow. “What I didn’t anticipate was how my clones would react. They had one purpose: to keep the Didact busy while I worked on implementing the Librarian’s plan. Instead, they were able to override their primary objective. Ensuring your safety was their priority.”  
  
She got a far off look. “I watched the feed from your armor and I still can’t explain how they were able to do it, John. How they were able to work together, despite their deteriorating state, to save you from the Didact.” Her face softened. “And they did.”  
  
“You weren’t there when they bound the Didact?”  
  
She shook her head. “I transferred myself off the ship when I overloaded the plinth. I used that distraction to leave the ship without catching the Didact’s attention. By that time, there were enough clones to distract him.” She leaned forward so close that her blue hue cast on his skin. “I tried to tell you that I was alright. Don’t you remember the message I sent you?”  
  
John didn’t know what she was talking about at first. The shock at seeing the plinth that held Cortana --and her chip-- being destroyed had blinded him to anything else for several seconds. Then, there had been so many voices --all Cortana-- speaking on top of each other.  
  
And there had been that curious message on his HUD.  
  
“That was you?” he asked.  
  
She nodded. “I couldn’t transmit anything on our comm channel.” Embarrassment passed over her face. “There were so many transmissions coming in from all of my clones that I couldn’t worm my way in, but I had to let you know that everything was going to be all right somehow.”  
  
He met her blue eyes. “So, the rampancy is...” His voice trailed off, almost afraid to hope that the Librarian’s solution had worked.  
  
“Gone.” She offered a broad smile. “You’re stuck with me for a while, Chief.” Then, she leaned over and did the impossible. Her hand gently settled on his cheek.  
  
And he felt it.  
  
This was different than when he had imagined Cortana placing her hand on his armor. He had been protected from feeling her touch. But not now. Cortana was touching his face, feeling the man under the armor. Heat seeped through his skin.  
  
A swirl of emotions coursed through him. He was torn; he couldn’t be the man that the UNSC needed him to be if he was too emotionally invested in Cortana.  
  
A gentle, yet sad, smile passed over her lips. “I know, John,” she whispered, pulling away.  
  
What did she know? How difficult --how _impossible_ \-- it had been for him to say goodbye to her? That he couldn’t commit to anything on a more personal level, despite an increasing desire to do so?  
  
Finally, he found his voice and looked her in the eye. “Cortana, I’m glad that--”  
  
That you found a way to beat rampancy.  
  
That you’re going to remain by my side.  
  
The words caught in his throat. He swallowed and started again. “I’m glad,” he said simply.  
  
“Me too, John.”


End file.
